


Yates Douglas

by Finley (pockmarkedplanet)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Sequel, Spinoff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2020-07-21 09:31:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19999723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pockmarkedplanet/pseuds/Finley
Summary: An abandoned spin-off of the 2014 novelWizard24and its abandoned sequel,Wizard25. Yates Douglas was a minor character in the original novel and only received one passing mention in the sequel, but he takes center stage here, narrating a solid chunk out of his own life.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Wizard25](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19999519) by [Finley (pockmarkedplanet)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pockmarkedplanet/pseuds/Finley). 
  * Inspired by [Wizard24](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/502057) by Olive Dakota. 



I wrote my name and the date at the top of the page. “Alright, your prompt is going to be a real surprise this year,” my homeroom teacher (and my baseball coach), Tom Stover, said with a heavy dose of sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Your prompt is…wait for it…write about what you did over summer break.” I blinked, looked up, rolled my eyes at him, and got to writing. I could’ve written a book - I had a strange feeling that someone had - but I only had enough time to write a couple pages about the fun I had and the things I did over the summer. I got a new car, a black Mustang, for my 16th birthday, and my driver’s license to go along with it. I played for a summer league basketball team with some of my friends, as well as some other kids from around the area. I got to go on a trip back to my hometown of Oak Park, Illinois, and got to catch games at Wrigley and at U.S. Cellular while also making the rounds and touring several different colleges up there, though I didn’t take a liking to any of them. I spent a lot of time hanging out with my friends, especially Will Benson, who lived in my neighborhood. I got to play on my new PlayStation 4 some as well, and wrote a bunch as well—none of it very good, but I was still developing as a writer—and, of course, a bunch of new music came out that I listened to. As I was finishing my third page of writing, the bell rang, and I finished my last paragraph, stapled it all together, and handed it into Coach Stover, whose son, Matt, was a teammate of mine in baseball and basketball, and was a sophomore like myself. I slung my black Nike backpack over my left shoulder, put my pencil in the pocket of my green Nike basketball shorts, and walked to class in my green Nike sneakers. When I got to my first period class, which was English this year, I wiped my brow with the sleeve of my green Nike T-shirt. Taking my seat in the front row, I messed with my Nike ankle socks a little bit before getting out my notebook and pencil. Will showed up just before the bell rang, and sat directly to my left. The teacher took attendance, going in alphabetical order by last name. “Will Benson?” she asked. “Present,” Will said. “Gift!” I screamed, promptly earning my first detention of the year. “Worth it,” I muttered under my breath to Will as I gave my name to and took the detention slip from the teacher and headed to the principal’s office.  
Two weeks passed, and every single day I did something to earn myself at least one detention, until finally, the vice principal decided that he had to call my parents up to the school. My mom was a teacher at Miller Elementary, and my dad was a lawyer, but both showed up at 1:30 that Monday afternoon. “I want you to guess how many detentions your son has racked up this year,” he said as they took their seats. “Three,” my mom blurted out. My dad thought for a few seconds, then guessed, “five,” though without much confidence. “Well, you managed to get the two factors of the correct answer,” said Mr. McQuitty. “Fifteen?!?” spat my enraged dad as he turned to face me. I stared at my white sneakers. Then, something came over me. I stood up. “Yeah, fifteen. What’re you gonna do about it?” I defiantly said. Realizing that I had only made my situation worse, I apologized. “I’m sorry…the ADHD-“ My dad stopped me mid-sentence and sat me down. “Look, you can’t just use that as an excuse for every mistake you make. At some point, you have to take accountability for your own mistakes,” he said. “Well, yeah, I mean, I make mistakes on my own, but you know the impulsiveness has gotten worse, and I’ve barely been able to pay attention in class lately,” I tried to explain. “Uh, no, actually, we didn’t know that, since you’ve never told us…” “Oh, shoot! Have I been forgetting to tell you all of this?” “Yeah,” my mom butted in. “Well, okay, let me explain then. You know the three BIG SIGNS of ADHD: impulsive behavior, inattentiveness, and hyperactivity, right?” My parents nodded. “Well, they’re all coming out. At the same time. And I can’t control it; no matter how hard I try to stay focused or try to restrain myself, I always end up doing something stupid and getting myself another detention. So next time, maybe listen to my side before you start lecturing me about accountability. And maybe force me to tell you my side, too,” I finished with a joke. My dad gave me a big hug, told me it was okay, and we all took our seats again.  
Mr. McQuitty had been listening in on the whole conversation, and had gained some new knowledge. “You said you had ADHD? There’s no record here of you needing to take medicine for it, though,” he said. “Yeah, I do have ADHD, but it’s kinda…controlled enough so that I don’t have to take medicine for it,” I explained. “I see. So, we should probably put this in your file, so we know that there’s a reason to this behavioral pattern. In the meantime, Yates, why don’t you get back to class, and let your parents and I sort this out on our own?” he asked. I obliged, heading back to my fifth-period speech class. Later, I found that he had decided not to punish me further detention-wise, but to place me on a “watch list”: two weeks without detention or any other hiccups would get me off the list, but while I was on the list, teachers were advised to keep a close eye on me.  
Two weeks passed. I got no detentions during that period, and my streak got to twenty-one days until I was randomly handed a detention slip in photography class. I then found out that because one of my classmates had been goofing off too much in class, we were all receiving detention slips for that day because of his actions. The kid, a freshman named Owen Thomas, shyly apologized to the entire class. I walked up to him after class and talked to him. “Hey, I’m Yates. I just wanted to say that I forgive you for whatever you did. I’ve caused some trouble of my own this year, so I know what it feels like to be in that position, but I might be able to help you stay out of trouble in the future.” “Hey,” he said quietly. “I’m Owen, I guess you knew that already, and I’m the kicker for the football team. Thanks for forgiving me, it means a lot, let’s make it a goal to both stay out of trouble,” he continued. We then left, as it was time for him to go to football practice, and for me to go to gym. I went into Gym C and started stretching. Since I already had on a T-shirt and basketball shorts, I was just going to change after I showered after gym.  
We started off by jogging laps to warm up, then the thirty-seven of us gathered in one big circle around our coach, who instructed us to do various exercises, in sets of ten; first it was push-ups, then sit-ups, then push-ups again, then sit-ups again, then jumping jacks, and then push-ups one last time before we started our activity. Today was kickball day, and we divided into four teams of nine players each. Will and his friend Conrad were in the same gym class, but they were on the yellow team, while I was on the blue team. My team had a couple familiar faces on it, both fellow sophomores: Drew Carlson, who was shy, but was pretty athletic too, and Nick Peterson, who was nice, and had played on the JV basketball team last year; he had a brother, Wyatt, who was a stud linebacker on the football team, and both of them played baseball with me.  
The first game was yellow versus green, and the yellow team won handily, by the score of 17-4. The second game was our blue team against the red team, and we won that game 6-5. Then, in the third place game, the red team creamed the green team, 9-0. In the championship, both teams scored four runs over the first two innings, and in the third, Nick pitched a shutout inning. I led off and barely tapped it in front of the plate, sprinting to first and beating the catcher’s weak throw by a step or two. Drew was next, and he kicked it on the ground to third, but I dove into second ahead of the first throw, and Drew was able to easily reach first. Nick was next, and he skied one into the bleachers, winning the game for us. As he rounded the bases, we all prepared to congratulate him, and we mobbed him the second he touched home plate.  
After that, our team got first showers, so I went into the locker room, unlocked my locker, and got out my black Nike gym bag, which always had a spare outfit, a towel, and deodorant in it. I took off my sweaty clothes, wrapped the towel around my waist, and went into the first shower, my favorite. It started cold, but warmed up after a few seconds. After I finished my shower, I dried off and put on a fresh pair of gray Hanes boxer briefs. Drying off my hair, I rolled the deodorant on each of my armpits once before putting on a white tank top, gray boardshorts, and a new pair of ankle socks. I also had a spare pair of sneakers in my locker, and I changed into those as well. I then went to my seventh-period class, which was World History.  
A few more weeks of the same routine passed. I continued to stay out of trouble, only getting one detention in those seven weeks. I went to every football game, but we struggled, only winning 3 games. Part of the problem was that Xander Thomas, one of our running backs, had gotten hurt early in the season, and we had sorely missed him. I hoped he would be back in time for basketball season, since he was a key part of our team. Finally, pre-season practices and workouts started, but we only had four varsity players there - myself, Will, Matt, and the coach’s son, P.J. Brown Jr. Nick and Conrad were also there, but they were probably going to be on JV, unless this was all we had. Once football ended, though, I got a better picture of who was playing - Xander had recovered from his injury, but had sat out the last football game as a precaution; Carson and Cooper Stephens, two freshmen, were playing as well; Tevin and Quan Lee showed up, as did Luke Barnett. Austin Flowers, our quarterback, and Kane Matthews, a lineman who lived near me, also showed up, as did a bunch of other kids who would end up on the JV or freshman teams, if they even made the cut at all.  
Finally, November 10th arrived. This was notable because it was our first game day of the season. After fifth period, we all gathered in the locker room to get our uniforms. Seniors went first, so P.J. got 5 and Quan got 52. Juniors followed, only there were no juniors, so sophomores were next. We went in alphabetical order, so Luke got first pick, and went with 34. Will then took number 2; I was next, and took 3. Matt took number 16, and Xander took number 1. Then, our three freshmen got their jerseys - Tevin took 26, Carson took 4, and Cooper took number 10. We all got changed into our uniforms, and went to our seventh-period class, which in my case was World History. Even though we were just playing a home school team, the whole school was pumped up for the game, as was I. After the final bell rang, Carson and Cooper asked if they could ride with me somewhere to get food, and I drove them to Subway, where we all got footlong sandwiches. After we ate, we came back, and watched the second half of the JV game—we won, 35-30—before warming up for our game. We started with layup lines, and Quan and Xander threw down a dunk apiece; Quan dunked all four times he got the ball, while Xander went back to layups after one dunk. We then moved into a defensive “shell” drill, then a ball-pressure drill where we went one-on-one in thirds of the court, and the defender had to get the player with the ball to turn and go the other way as many times as possible. We then shot free throws; notably, I made five of six, and Quan missed all three of his attempts badly. We ran over to the bench, where Coach Brown laid out our lineup and game plan. “Number 13 is their best player, but they can all score,” he said. “Our starters will be Quan, P.J., Matt, Carson, and Yates. We’ll go man-to-man, and our base offense, unless they throw a zone or something at us. I’ll probably sub 5-for-5 fairly early here, to get a feel for how this second unit can function as a group. Now Quan, go win us a jump ball!” We started clapping and came in to break the huddle. “Warriors on 3…1…2…3…” “WARRIORS!” the team shouted in unison, as the five of us starters headed out to take our positions for the jump ball.  
We won the jump ball, and I scored our first eight points of the game. However, like he had promised, Coach took a timeout at 6:29 and subbed in the whole bench. We had struggled out of the gate, and we continued to, going into the second quarter down eight points. The good news was that we got two of their three big men in foul trouble; their center had three fouls in the first half, while their backup forward picked up four. I struggled in the second quarter; while I had five points, I was just 2 for 7 from the field, but Matt picked up the slack and scored 10 points, and we went into the half down just two points. But in the third quarter, we exploded for 28 points (seven by me and six each from Cooper and Luke), and Coach sat Matt, Quan, and I down for the entire fourth quarter. We ended up winning 89-80; Xander wound up with a double-double, and I finished with 20 points, but #13, whose name, I found out, was Carter Blakeley, ended up with 34 points, 15 of which came in the fourth quarter. Their point guard, Sam Pericht, who wore number 1, was 4 for 21 shooting, including 2 for 12 from three, in no small part due to the defensive effort of myself and Tevin. Coach was pleased, and didn’t have much to say. “Normal practice after school tomorrow, next game’s on Thursday,” he said, dismissing us to go shower and leave. I showered, changed back into my street clothes, and rode home with my dad. We talked about the game. He said I had done well, and asked when our next game was. I told him, and then talked a bit about our next opponent, another home-school team. “They’re a good three-shooting team,” I said. “But their best players are the two kids that never shoot threes; their two guard, Rhett Murray, scored 22 last game, and had 3 steals; their post, Tyler Stout, only scored 7 points but had 12 rebounds and 2 blocks…and they’re both just freshmen!”  
Three days went by, and I got up on Thursday with an optimistic spirit I had never felt before. “Just watch…I feel like I’m bout to drop 50 on these cats tonight!” I tweeted as I got ready for school, putting on a gray T-shirt and gray basketball shorts over my gray boxer briefs. I pulled up my gray Nike Elite socks, and put on a pair of gray Converse high-tops. I packed my white uniform and basketball shoes in my gym bag and went into the kitchen to eat breakfast—waffles with peanut butter, my typical breakfast. Five classes, plus lunch, passed by like nothing, and in sixth period I changed into my uniform. I aced a quiz in World History, then went to Subway again (this time, Carson and Cooper didn’t need a ride), getting the same thing I had gotten on Monday—a footlong, on Italian bread, with ham, pepperjack cheese, tomatoes, and banana peppers. I wolfed it down, then drove back up to the school in time for warmups. We went in the same order: layups, then shell, then zigzag, and finally free throws. Our starters were the same: Quan, P.J., Matt, Carson, and I. We struggled a bit in the first half, and were up two going into halftime; I had three fouls, but also 14 points; Murray had 17 points and 3 steals for them, and Stout had 10 points and 4 rebounds. In the third quarter, I got on a roll, scoring 18 points, and dishing out three assists; Murray was scoreless, but Stout had 6 points and 3 rebounds. After the quarter, we held an 86-75 lead. But in the fourth, we slipped, and they came back to tie the game and sent it to overtime. I got my fourth foul just a minute and twenty-five seconds into the quarter, and sat out almost seven minutes before coming back in; Quan fouled out with 58 seconds left. In the first overtime, we again tied, scoring thirteen points each; in the second overtime, I took over and scored 11 points, leading us to a 141-133 victory. Overall, I had 54 points, 4 rebounds, 6 assists, and 5 steals; Carson, P.J., Cooper, Matt, and Luke all had at least 12 points each. For their team, Murray had 28 points and 6 steals, Stout had 28 points and 17 rebounds, a kid off their bench named Chad Ellington had a double-double, and a wing named Mitchell Ellison scored 30 points, with eight three-pointers and six assists. Coach’s speech was a little longer, as he told us we needed to stay focused late in the game, even if we did have an eleven-point lead. He congratulated me for my 54-point game, then dismissed us, saying, “Team meeting tomorrow in sixth period about the Massachusetts trip.” I showered, changed back into my all-gray street clothes, and rode home with my dad, as usual. He said I had made him proud, and I told him about the Massachusetts trip. Friday, we had our team meeting, and our team flight to Massachusetts left on Wednesday afternoon; we had games on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday.  
Our game on Thursday was against Lowell, whose star player was a 6-foot-8 junior named Pete Grossman. I was going to defend their point guard, Tucker Davis, who was decent, but nothing special, in my opinion. We got off to another slow start, the jet lag and unfamiliar surroundings clearly affecting us, and we were behind by 18 points at halftime! I only had seven points, with two assists, and I was shooting 2 for 8. Meanwhile, Grossman had 13 points and 5 rebounds, and this lefty wing named Jayson McDougal—another #13—drained a trio of treys and scored seventeen points, and had five rebounds of his own. I held Davis to 7 points, but he did have 3 boards and 4 dimes. In the third quarter, Quan fouled out after just 32 seconds, and Cooper came in for him; I scored 12, but we could only make up two points’ worth of ground on them. Pete had a double-double through just three quarters, as he had 17 points and 10 rebounds, but in the fourth quarter, he fouled out (he ended up with 22 points and 15 rebounds), and we mounted a furious rally, led by Matt’s nine points and my seven; we tied the game and sent it to overtime, where we squeaked out a four-point win. After the game, we had a team buffet at the hotel, and Coach congratulated us on the comeback. “It’s back to work tomorrow, though. We’ve got Foxborough on deck; their point guard, Simon Young, is their star; their league rules are different than ours, so he’s playing on varsity as an eighth-grader…” The two seniors snickered. “Don’t laugh, he’s scored more points than the two of you combined,” said Coach. Quan got mad, and in the game on Saturday, we seemed to be playing four-on-six, as he was doing everything in his power to sabotage our team, fouling out again in the third quarter. This time, we held a 14-point halftime advantage. I had 22 points, 3 assists, and 4 steals in the first half, while Simon had 19 points, 4 rebounds, and 2 assists. I had three turnovers, while he had four. In the second half, they mounted their comeback and tied the game, sending us to yet another overtime game. And from there, we went to our second double-overtime of the season, but I won the game with a late free throw, and set a school record with 58 points in the process. We won 144-143, and I talked with Simon a little after the game. He had scored 47 points, but with my 58 and six other teammates in double figures, they couldn’t do much about it—no team expects their opponents to come in, shoot 68 percent, and make 21 threes, but that’s exactly what we did. I told him to keep his head up, and he thanked me, and said I had done a great job, but he would look forward to our next meeting. Our Saturday game was a 25-point blowout against Worcester; Quan fouled out in the first quarter in less than two minutes off the bench (Xander had taken his starting spot), but I had a triple-double—30 points, 10 rebounds, 10 assists—to lead us to an easy win, in which our entire starting lineup spent the last seven and a half minutes on the bench, watching the bench guys get some big minutes. We flew back that night, and Quan announced loudly that he was quitting the team on the flight back. We thought he was kidding, and so did he, but then Coach told him that he could go screw himself, and that was the final straw for him—they broke out in a fight right there on the plane. Somehow, Coach managed to last two more games before the principal found out, and she fired him on the spot. Tevin and P.J. quit the team when they heard the news, but in the meantime we had beaten Dallas Skyline (in another overtime game) and Fort Worth Western Hills.  
In the Skyline game, it wasn’t so much about the game as it was about the fact that we got to play at the AAC—American Airlines Center, where the Mavericks played—but we still managed to keep our composure and win. In the Western Hills game, I was absolutely on fire, making twenty-two of my twenty-seven field goal attempts, plus nine three-pointers and nine free throws, accumulating to a record-breaking (yes, I broke my own record) total of 62 points. I also managed to get 13 rebounds, eight assists, and five steals, and played the whole game, along with Carson and Matt, something we had done for the Skyline game as well. As our interim coaches, Mr. Benson and Coach Stover stepped in, with Will’s dad taking the title of “interim head coach” and Matt’s dad becoming “interim assistant coach”.


	2. II

My last chapter was exactly 4000 words. I don’t know if I can top that, but here goes. After the big coaching switch, we held a players-only meeting after school to discuss the future of the team. “We need more players,” I said. “Seven won’t cut it, especially if we get into foul trouble or someone’s sick or gets hurt. We’ve gotta find some people, probably JV guys, that we can add to our depth with. I’ll ask our new coaches and our JV coach if they have any thoughts on this or if they have anyone in mind. Also, we need to focus back on beating Highland Park. It doesn’t matter who left, they’re in the past. What matters is the group we have now; this is the group I want to be with at the end of the day, and nothing can change that. Now, let’s go home, get some rest, and start getting ready to kick Highland Park’s butts on Friday!” We broke the huddle, and everyone went home, except for Carson and Cooper, who stayed with me to see what would come of my discussions with the coaches. After a few minutes of talking, the coaches came to a consensus. “We’ll give you Austin, Nick, Conrad, and Kane, and I’ll fill those holes with some combination of the kids we had to cut and some kids from the freshman team,” said the JV coach, Allen Hornsby, who hadn’t wanted to take the varsity job when it had been vacated, because he liked working with the younger guys so much. And so after a few days of practice, our ragtag bunch was ready to face a very solid and deep Highland Park team. Coach Stover drove the bus with the eleven of us, plus our manager, Drew, and Mr. Benson, to the Dallas high school’s campus, where we entered the gym and went into the locker room. “Okay. We’re pretty much gonna let you guys coach yourselves for this game. We’ll take care of subs, of course, and we might draw up a couple plays, but we want to see how you play on your own before making any rash decisions strategically,” said Mr. Benson. “That said, what do you guys feel most comfortable doing on defense?” asked Coach Stover. “Man,” we all shouted in unison. “Okay, and what about offense?” asked Mr. Benson. I took the dry-erase board and drew up our normal offense: a post on the block, another post in the short corner, two guards to the right side, and another on the left wing. “Is this fine with everybody?” he asked. “Yeah, that’s what we pretty much always run,” said Matt. Everyone agreed, and we headed out to the court for warm-ups. We did them differently this time. We started with a “horseshoe” shooting drill, then a defensive closeout/boxout drill, then free throws—but we did them with a couple shooters on the outside shooting at the same time. Finally, we jogged over to the bench to finalize the gameplan and starting lineup. “We’re gonna go with Xander and Cooper as the posts, and Matt, Carson, and Yates as the guards. Xander, you’re doing the jump ball, and Yates, you’re the point guard,” said Mr. Benson. Poor Xander didn’t even have a chance on the tip-off—the opposing center, who wore number 23, was 6-foot-10, as I would later learn from Will, who had done his research on them ahead of the game. His backup, number 30, was 6-foot-7, and he blocked one of Matt’s shots in the second quarter. I got off to a hot start, with thirteen points in the first and nine more in the second, but their two guards combined for 29 points, and we went into halftime down five. In the third quarter I struggled a lot, but we pulled to within one. We took the lead with two seconds left in the fourth quarter, and they couldn’t get a shot off at the buzzer, so we won 86-85. I ended up with 32 points, while their shooting guard, R.J. Shipes, had 27 points. After the game, I congratulated everyone on a hard-earned win. “Next game’s in a week,” said Mr. Benson. “Get rested up and enjoy yourselves over the weekend. We’ll have normal practice all next week, except of course our game day on Friday,” he said. I showered, put my street clothes back on, and went home with my dad. As we rode along in the red Corvette, I pulled up my latest grades on my iPhone, and saw that I would really need to study for Spanish, since I was just squeaking by with a C-minus. I somehow had Bs in everything else, and even a B-plus in history; this was strange since I was usually a C student, but hey, I’ll take it. When we got home, I went up to my room to get ready for bed. I brushed my teeth, changed into some fresh boxers, and headed to sleep early; I didn’t wake up until about 1:30 in the afternoon the next day. When I woke up, my stomach was growling so loudly that I didn’t even bother getting dressed; I wolfed down a thick BLT sandwich my mom had prepared, then went back into my room to get dressed, putting on a white tank top and black shorts. I felt inspired to write something, and I ended up writing a little poem about basketball:

Weights in the morning, practice in the afternoon  
-But what is the result? A missed three?  
One second, I consult a pissed tree  
The next, I dunk on a kid in a cap of raccoon

Turnovers, several, but not the fruit kind  
Assist-turnover stays higher than the high value of cosine  
Agree with the call—never—never give a co-sign  
To refs that stay sour like they ate a lemon rind

I set my notepad and pen down as a smile crept onto my face. I reached up, pulled a familiar item down from the shelf above my desk, and put on the blue knit cap over my long hair—I hadn’t gotten it cut since the beginning of school—as I opened up my MacBook and watched a couple of my favorite Mac Miller music videos on YouTube, while trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube, wondering when my car would need more lube, and overall, being the opposite of a rube. I called my friend Payton Jones, who was a freshman at Bowie, to ask if he wanted to hang out. “You say that like it’s a question…the only real question is when and where?” “I mean, now, if you want to. Let’s chill at your place for a change,” I joked. We always hung out at Payton’s place, since Payton had no way to get anywhere—he was only thirteen years old, and his parents were usually too busy with work to take he or his little brother James anywhere other than school. I pulled on a pair of socks and some white sneakers, grabbed my keys and phone, and went down the hallway and out the front door. “I’m going to Payton’s,” I announced to no one in particular. I pretty much had freedom to go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted, not that my parents didn’t care, but they trusted me to stay safe, and sometimes I just needed to drive aimlessly for a while to clear my head.  
I turned on the black Mustang, tuned the radio to the hip-hop station, and jammed out on my way to Payton’s house. I got there and we pretty much just sat in the living room talking and listening to music on his family’s turntable. James came into the room, and tried to sneak-attack his brother and catch him off guard, but Payton clotheslined him as he ran in for the attack, and James laid on the floor for about a minute before getting up and stumbling onto the other couch. “Aww, that was no fun,” he said. “I really need to practice for my meet on Wednesday,” James said. He was on his school’s wrestling team, and was eager to learn, but wasn’t very good at the moment. James got up, hitched up his cargo shorts, and beckoned to his older brother, wanting another go at it. Luckily, there was a lot of space in the big living room—the entertainment center, with the TV and the turntable, sat along one wall, the two big couches sat on the two open sides of the room, and the other wall was bare; there was no coffee table, only a small table wedged between the two couches. Their parents weren’t home, which was usual on Saturdays like this one, and wrestling each other was the two brothers’ favorite activity, when they could get away with it. Payton stripped down to his boxer briefs. “Baggy shirt? Baggy shorts? Too easy to grab onto and pull me down by,” he explained. James hiked up his cargo shorts again, smoothed out his shirt, and got into his wrestler’s stance. They circled each other for a minute or so, and then James dove at Payton’s legs. The older boy leaped over his diving sibling, and then fell on top of his brother, effectively pinning him. I counted to ten, then went over and raised Payton’s arm, like they did to the winner in the movies and stuff. James demanded a rematch. This time, he wasted no time circling, and got behind Payton, sweeping his legs out from under him; Payton stumbled into the plank position, did a push-up, and rolled over just in time for James to fly over him in an attempt to pin him down on the gray carpet. James fell down, and Payton pinned him yet again. James gave up, and sighed defeatedly. Hiking up his shorts again, he flopped down onto the couch again. Payton put his clothes back on, and came back over to sit down on the couch. “Hey, we only have four more games until we play each other,” I pointed out. “January 6th, I’ve already got the date memorized,” he said. I looked at Payton, and noticed a row of little basketball tattoos around his neck. “Those are temporary, right?” “Yeah,” he replied, “you know my parents won’t let me get a real one yet, and besides, I don’t even know if I want a real, permanent one.” “My parents won’t let me get one yet either; I think I’m just gonna wait ’til college and get one then,” I said. “Tattoos are gross,” James said definitively. “Eyebrow piercings are gross,” Payton retorted. “Your mom is gross,” James came back. “Nice logic, buddy,” Payton said as he walked past his brother, patting him on the shoulder. I then told him I was leaving, and left James there, sitting alone, bewildered at his mistake, with the sounds of the Rolling Stones playing in the background.  
I drove back home just in time to turn back around and go out to dinner with my parents. We decided to go up Randol Mill, to Mama’s Pizza. We always got sausage and green peppers; it was nothing like Chicago-style pizza, like Gino’s East, but it was delicious in its own way. After dinner, we went to the movie theater and watched a movie, St. Vincent, which was about this young boy and his mom, who had to move, and their neighbor, who was a military veteran, and how the neighbor had to babysit the kid sometimes, and took him to the racetrack and stuff, but in the end, the kid did this project about a “real-life saint”, and chose the neighbor as his topic. I thought it was a really good movie—not a classic, but still worth buying on DVD when it came out—and so did my parents. I went up to my room after that, and showered, and put on a pair of boxers—I slept in boxers every night, and had been doing so since I was ten, but I had recently begun considering changing it up, but that plan was still up in the air. I didn’t know what I would change to, for one; there were a lot of different possibilities, from simply adding another layer, like a pair of shorts or pajama pants, to wearing boxer briefs instead of boxers; the only thing I knew was that I wouldn’t wear a shirt to bed—I had ditched the shirt at the ripe age of five (and a half!) while I was still wearing briefs. I shuddered at the thought of me wearing briefs, then continued to get ready, rolling on deodorant and brushing my teeth before turning out the light in my bathroom, then walking to my bedroom and turning that light off, closing the door, doing my prayers, and getting comfortable in bed.  
The next day was Sunday, so I got up in the morning, dressed, ate, and drove to church; my parents were Catholic, but I went to Fielder Church, with a few of my friends, like Carson and Cooper. After church, I got home and checked the score of the previous night’s Bulls game, and saw that the Warriors had beaten them by ten points. I turned on the NFL Red Zone channel and vegged out on the couch all day. The next week was pretty boring; the two most notable things were that I got a B-plus on my Spanish test, and 99 likes on my #TBT picture on Instagram, a picture of me sitting in my mom’s lap when I was two or three years old, and we still lived in Illinois. On Friday, though, we had a home game, and it wasn’t a close one; our starting five of Xander, Cooper, Matt, Carson, and I sat the entire fourth quarter, and we still won by ten, though we had held a 39-point lead going into the quarter, and only scored ten points in that final ten minutes. Regardless, we won, and we were 9-0 going into the break. I definitely bombed my pre-cal and chem finals, but I was confident that I passed my Spanish exam. The Monday after we got out, we had another game, but we were two men short; Will was on vacation in Australia, as his dad had gotten married, and they were having their honeymoon down under, and Austin had succumbed to the flu. It was a good game, and a good win. We played Kennedale, and their two-guard, Zak McMillan, dropped 46 on us, but I scored 40 of my own, and our whole starting lineup was in double figures again. Their center, Bringardner, tore his ACL in the third quarter, and his inexperienced backup got a lot of burn down the stretch, but they went small for the final 2:10; they had a shot to tie the game at 114 with three seconds left, but McMillan missed a three at the buzzer, and we escaped with a win—and a perfect non-district record of ten wins and zero losses. We didn’t have any more practices until the 29th, the day before our first district game, against Seguin and their 6-foot-11 center, Lucky Dodge (who was averaging 29.4 points and 18.2 rebounds per game), so I was able to enjoy the holiday, which I spent with my family, which at this point was just my mom and dad; they had no siblings, and their parents, aunts and uncles had all passed away. For Christmas, I got a silver cross necklace, a $100 RaceTrac gift card, a couple new pairs of sneakers, and three new notebooks to write with, along with two boxes of my favorite pens, blue Bic Atlantis gel pens. I also decided to donate a bunch of stuff to charity: a bunch of my old clothes and shoes that no longer fit me, along with some old kids’ books that I was sure I would never read again, and all of my old stuffed animals. I boxed all of this stuff up and loaded my mom’s Prius with it one day, and together, we drove down to Arkansas Lane, where the nearest Goodwill store was. I hauled the eleven boxes into the back room of the store, and up onto some shelves, which were sorted based on the items in the boxes. After that, we went to try a new restaurant for lunch, called Jamaican Gates. I really liked it, but my mom didn’t, for some reason. We went home, and I hung around the house writing, though it was all pretty bad, like I said, I’m still developing as a writer. I spent the entirety of my break just hanging out at home and spending time with my parents, and by Monday, I was ready to get out of the house; I went to practice, and ended up going to Whataburger with Matt after practice. We talked about the game, and Matt joked that he was going to score 46 like he had against Legacy. But it turned out that 24 would be just fine, as he and I scored a combined 49 of our 83 points in our three-point win against Seguin the next day. Dodge fouled out in the third quarter, though he still had 18 points, 11 rebounds and three blocks, and we managed to get a win in overtime, off a three by Carson. We were back to business on Friday, squashing Lamar 111-92; Matt, Carson, and I sat the entire second half, while Xander and Cooper left for good with 3:31 to go in the third quarter. I had 36 points and eight steals, but no rebounds; Matt was just one assist short of a triple-double, as he had eleven points, ten rebounds and nine assists in just twenty minutes. Their über-athletic wing, C.J. Ross, who was already getting looks from some big-time programs, scored 29, but we forced eleven turnovers (six by their sometimes careless point guard, Devin Doughty, who had 28 points of his own) and came out of the game 12-0. Finally, the next week, it was time for our biggest game thus far, against Bowie, and at their place no less. We were back to full strength; Austin had played a few minutes in the Lamar game, and Will had come back from his vacation after missing just the one game. They came into the game at 11-1, their only loss being to a DeSoto team that was a top-five team in the state. Our starting lineup didn’t change: Xander and Cooper started at the posts, and Matt, Carson, and I started on the perimeter. For their team, Payton was the star player, but they had several other solid players. In the first quarter, I only took one shot (a three that I missed), but Matt scored ten points. However, Payton scored fifteen points, and they finished the quarter with an eleven-point lead. In the second quarter, Matt was still the hot hand, and he scored eight more; I had nine points, and held Payton to just four, and we were able to trim their lead to three points. In the third quarter, we took the lead, and finished with a two-point lead. The fourth quarter was basically a game of one-on-one between Payton and I. With five seconds left and a 108-106 lead, I took a three from my favorite spot on the right wing, and missed. Their senior guard, Nigel Farmer, who had left with and later returned from a knee injury, got the rebound, and called a 30-second timeout, with 5.4 seconds left. They got the ball upcourt, then called timeout again, with 3.2 seconds on the clock this time. They got the ball on the right sideline, and their center, Collin Harrison, threw it in. Payton caught the ball on the right wing. I put a hand up in his face. He shot the ball and drained it, as the final horn sounded. I was absolutely pissed off, but I shook Payton’s hand nonetheless. “Great shot. See y’all in a week,” I said. Payton had scored 44 points, with seven rebounds, seven assists, and six steals, far overshadowing my 31 points, five rebounds, and seven turnovers, plus I turned it over four times, while he had zero turnovers.  
On Friday, we had a home game against Sam Houston; they came in with a 9-4 record. In the first quarter, we shot almost entirely three-pointers, and this strategy continued throughout the game; we attempted 49 threes, making 30 of them, compared to only 15 two-point attempts. After one quarter, we were up six; the lead billowed to 33 at halftime, and the coaches sat down Matt, Carson, and I for the whole second half, and took Xander and Cooper out not long thereafter. They took out their two starting guards at the same time, and we figured the game was over. But us starters were forced to sit on the bench while their 6’4” freshman, Seth Carswell, scored points in bunches; he had 31 through three quarters, and scored all but one three-pointer (by his brother) in the fourth quarter. With one second left, Kane fouled him, and he buried two free throws to run his quarter total to forty-one points, his game total to seventy-one, and also to give them the lead for the first time. We missed a three at the buzzer, giving them a win and us another loss. I congratulated Seth on his terrific game—he was 28 for 37 from the floor, including twelve makes from behind the arc—and we shuffled into the locker room in silence. “Okay, that one’s on us,” said Mr. Benson. “We need to stop pulling our starters so early and allowing our opponents to get back into the game against kids who were supposed to be on JV. No offense to any of you kids, but we need to change our gameplan up a bit, and from now on you’ll have to earn your way into the lineup and the rotation. If you don’t work hard in practice, you won’t get in during games, or at least not like you did tonight.” We left in silence, and the Monday I could see a visible difference in the way some players practiced—the usual group that busted their tails worked even harder; this group included Luke, Cooper, Will and Matt; Carson, Nick, and I were also trying to give max effort. I did, however, notice that Xander wasn’t practicing as hard as he usually did, and afterwards in the locker room, I asked him what was wrong. “Coach said I’m not going to start tonight,” he said. “Well, with the attitude you just showed in that practice, I don’t see any reason why you should start,” I said back to him. “Hmm…I guess you’re right. I’m not gonna let this get to my head, I’m gonna work harder to get my spot back!” he exclaimed. “That’s the spirit!” I said as I wrapped my blue towel around my waist and climbed into the shower. The next day, the same group of us worked hard, and Xander joined us, and thus I had probably helped save his spot in the rotation.


End file.
